" What held her silent was the realization that while she felt
herself helpless, under the control of some omnipotent will, here was
one who cried out to her as arbiter. It was strange and she wanted to
laugh again but, refusing that easy comment, she came upon a thought
which terrified and comforted her together. She was responsible for what
she had done; Zebedee would know that, and he would have the right, if
he had the heart, to blame her. A faint sound was caught in her throat
and driven back. She had to be prepared for blame and for the anger
which so endeared him, but the belief that she was not the plaything of
malevolence gave her the dignity of courage.

"Helen," said the voice again.

"Yes. I wrote to Uncle Alfred yesterday--this morning. I shouldn't think
he could be here tomorrow, but the next day, if he comes--"

But blame or anger, how small they were in the face of this common
gash--this hurt! She shut a door in her brain, the one which led into
that chamber where all lovely things bloomed among the horrors. And
Zebedee, as she had always told him, was just herself: they shared.

"Oh, you've done that? How wonderful! But--it's like running away."

"I don't want you here."

There was an exclamation and a protest.

"Only because I couldn't be happy about you."

"Because of George? No, I don't see how I can stay here, but there's
Notya."

"You're no use, you see."

"Oh--"

"If you can't even carry in that bed."

"I'll try to go in," she said, in a muffled voice.

"I can ask the nurse. I don't want you to stay, but try," she went on
dispassionately, "try not to be silly any more. I shan't always be there
to--save you."

"It was very dramatic."

"Yes; just like a story, wasn't it?"

"Don't be so unpleasant. I still feel ill. It was horrid to faint. I
can't make out why Mrs. Biggs didn't stop you."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"N-no--"

"Neither do I."

"But I can't make out--"

"Never mind. What does it matter? It's over. For you it's over. But
don't play with people's lives any more, and ruin them."

There was a pause, in which the room grew darker.

"Do you think," Miriam asked in an awed voice, "he minds so much?"

Helen moved the little clothes-horse and knelt before the fire and its
heat burnt her face while her body shivered under a sudden cold. She
thought of George, but not as an actor in last night's scenes; her
memory swung back, as his had often done, to the aut